


The Lover

by AurumBrountzos (ChrysosArgentum), ChrysosArgentum



Series: Alva Inkerion [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Contains actual Loki!, F/M, Not Canon with Comics, PWP, Pillow Talk, Podfic Welcome, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Thor (2011), Smut, Taking the MCU and expanding, Vaginal Sex, Warning: Loki, Wingfic, Wings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrysosArgentum/pseuds/AurumBrountzos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrysosArgentum/pseuds/ChrysosArgentum
Summary: Prequel to The HealerA snippet in the lives of Prince Loki and Alva Inkerion.Conversations about commitment, careers and elvish culture are not considered normal pillow talk.Also, Loki finds the thought of his brother fumbling through trysts with servants both amusing and empowering.Hope you enjoy!





	The Lover

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this with Snow Patrol on shuffle. I'm sure you can feel Crack the Shutters and Set The Fire To The Third Bar in it!

The late afternoon sun crept its way along the marble floor, bathing it in golden light. Tiny dust motes hung suspended in its gaze, visible to the room’s occupants. Alva lay, somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, staring at them as they glittered and danced through the air. Her wings lay sprawled out, hanging over the edge of the impressively sized bed, the tips of the long feathers slowly lightening, minute by minute, as the sunlight reached out to brush them.

  
The rhythmic brush of long dexterous fingers through the short tertiary feathers where her wings almost met at her spine was hypnotic, lulling her into a daze. Elves were sensual creatures, the light variety even more so. The cold detachment her species held the world at was brushed away during intimacy, in that half aware state when words weren’t needed.

  
Alva had always found sex to be ritualistic, but perhaps that was the seidkona in her. On the surface it was pleasure, a joining where two beings were swept into perfect alignment. A mutual melding of intent. Good sex went further than that, two bodies moving in tandem, minds almost brushing and the ebb as flow of sensation wrought near oblivion.

  
 But magically it went deeper even than that. Women always had a closer connection to the energies of Yggdrasil, their bodies hardwired to draw from it to enable childbearing. Men did not have the same connection, there was only really one instance when they brushed its surface. There was a moment, the length of a breath, when two beings in the act of intimacy transcended the physical reality and felt with their entire beings the flow of Eidr through the world tree. That moment when the potential for new life almost sparked.

  
Alva stirred, stretching slightly and resuming the light brushing of fingertips over pale skin that she had been doing of and off as she rested. Time had almost no meaning in this place, only the creeping sunlight showed any change. The simple being that came after, as they slowly untangled themselves emotionally, finding the pieces that belonged to each of them in the shared whole they had been for a time. She felt the subtle changes in texture as she passed over a near invisible scar. A deep voice, roughened by exertion interrupted her half formed thoughts.

  
 “Are you writing magical formulae on my chest?”

  
Alva paused, noticing for the first time that she had, in fact, been shaping the runes for a basic protection ward on Loki’s chest. She blinked, pushing her elbow beneath her to look up at him. The god of mischief was half leaned up against the golden bedframe, one arm pillowed behind his head as he methodically preened her feathers.

  
“I was thinking,” She replied. Her thoughts still hung half formed at the back of her mind, barely acknowledged.

  
“Am I boring you?” he asked, though the half insulted look on his face did not match the playful tone he used. Even so, Alva could feel deep below that, the real question. Loki was ever curious, but frustratingly stubborn about sating it. She wondered whether to broach the subject now or whether to put it off.

  
“I’ve nearly completed my apprenticeship with the Lady Eir.” She deflected. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to confide in Loki – not at all, he was the only person in Asgard she really opened up to – it was just that she didn’t want to bring the complex thoughts into this tranquil moment.

  
“Congratulations?” he replied, half in jest. “I’m unsure whether I should be concerned that you’re thinking of your tutor whilst lying naked in bed with me.”

  
She gave him a dry look, and he smirked at her. “I do not believe anyone could forget who they are lying with in this bed Loki. You are all-encompassing.”

  
“Thank you darling, my self-esteem is no longer in jeopardy.” His face turned serious, a frown stretching over his handsome features. “I wonder if you are ever to enlighten me as to what has you so thoughtful these past weeks.” He raised a brow at her surprise. “I’m hardly unobservant, and you have been contemplative. Even Thor has commented on your mood, and he’s about as likely to notice anything but his hammer as Volstagg is to fast for a century.”

  
The last comment was more spoken with more bite than it would have in years past, a subtle reminder that Loki was growing less patient with his brother’s arrogance. The thunder god had started to ignore the suggestions of the rest of the group in favour of his own whims, and Alva could see it starting to sour the relationship between the two Odinsons.

  
Alva decided to grab the bilgesnipe by the antlers. “You have read the tomes on the culture of the Ljósálfar?” she started. “Those pertaining to interpersonal relationships?”

  
Loki gave a deep sigh. “The library of Asgard has about a fifth as many books as the great library of Álfheim, and I’ve lived for near 800 years. There isn’t a book in this realm I have not read at least once.” He shifted, pulling himself upright, resting his back against the veritable mountain of pillows behind. He had the look of some great cat lazily sunning himself; regal but dangerous.

  
“The Ljósálfar are one of the most long-lived of all the beings in the nine realms. Only the True Norns exceed us, and we have nearly a two millennia on even the oldest Áesir.” She paused, contemplating her words. “It is difficult to find another to bond with strongly enough to last that great length of time. When we do find it, we can sense it right down to the very tips of our wings. It resounds through us, the natural Seidr of another locking into place against our own.” Her words were half reverent, a deep longing filling her soul at the thought.

  
In time, Loki spoke. “And we do not share that.” It was a statement. There was no disappointment in his tone; in fact he sounded as though he were speaking of the weather, or discussing the outcome of a bout in the training yards. She sensed there was some hidden emotion just out of sight, but could not begin to unravel it.

  
“Not now,” she sighed. “All I know is that as we are now, in the time, all that we are does not fit with each other.  I care for you, but we are not mates.” Alva tried to read any reaction to this statement, any flicker of thought behind his emerald eyes, but there was nothing.

  
“We hardly started this planning a wedding.” Loki’s words were almost mocking, and the Ljósálfar allowed a smile to cross her face, the tension leaving her shoulders. “So how exactly does this pertain to your apprenticeship?”

  
“I’ve been offered a place with the Scholars of Nornheim.”  
Loki’s face broke out into an uncharacteristically wide grin. His eyes brightened with enthusiasm and his hands came up to rest on her shoulders as though to shake her. It was moments like this, when his masks fell away and he allowed true joy to overtake him that Loki became so utterly beautiful. “You must accept,” he told her. “This I everything you’ve dreamed of!”

  
It was true, Alva ad idolised the scholars for as long as she could remember, as soon as she was old enough to understand what they did. A small sect that protected the combined knowledge of all the realms. They studied history, lore, art, but most importantly the higher magic’s. Tracking down lost relics and keeping watch on others, it was one of the largest collective group of knowledge around.

  
The scholars were highly selective over inductees, watching potentials for centuries before approaching them. Once chosen there were binding Oaths to ensure one could not use the knowledge for personal gain, or to harm others. The security was immense, and rightly so. The havoc that could be wrought with even a fraction of the intelligence that the scholars protected was terrifying.

  
Alva mirrored Loki’s expression, overjoyed at his positive reaction. A brief wish that her own family would be so accepting was dismissed as soon as it crossed her mind. She had made her choices and they had made theirs. “I was worried you might not be so pleased,” the Ljósálfar admitted.

  
“Why?” the dark prince looked bewildered. “Is this why you spoke of elvish culture? Surely you did not believe I would push you to stay.” The elf had actually worried he might be jealous. She had recognised the concealed longing in this voice when they spoke of the scholars previously. It was another thing the Loki would never have the opportunity to pursue. Whether he was the second son or not, there were expectations placed on him his whole life, the near constant competition for a throne that the chaos god never really wanted, but could bare to lose.

  
“I wanted you to be aware that I was not simply choosing something over you. Perhaps, in time, we will be different people and will resonate truly. Or perhaps not. Life is an ever moving skiff that we can only influence the direction of.”

  
“You hardly need to spare my feelings, but I thank you for the courtesy.” He responded, drily. There was subtle note of playfulness that told her he was once again teasing. She could a rush of warmth across her naked skin at the look in his eyes. It was hungry. Alva knew, with utter certainty that this was the last time they would lay together for a time. Perhaps forever. She pushed herself upwards, straddling his hips and feeling a more obvious sign of his arousal pressing against her.

  
She ran her hands up his sides leaving goose bumps in her wake to rest them behind his neck. His fingers were once more running through the thick feathers of her wings, from soothing caresses to rougher almost tugs at handfuls of them. The wings bristled in response, starching up and out to curve around her shoulders and brush the cool wall behind him. He kissed her boldly, pulling her towards him by his grip on her wings, slipping into her mouth with all the force of a conqueror.

  
She threaded her fingers into his hair, pressing closer to him, trying to crawl inside his very being, knowing that when this ended she would be bereft of a part of herself. For a part of her would always be his lover, and though what came after would soon grow to fill that gap, a piece of her would stay behind with this man who she had been one with. And maybe a small part of him would come with her, stitched into her like patch in the tapestry that was Alva Inkerion.

  
Alva surged against him, pressing a hand down and grasping his shaft so she could slide down onto him. He broke away from her mouth with a satisfied huff of breath, pressing his teeth to her neck and gasping out warm air against her skin as her rocked her into his chest, thrusting lazily into her. She rolled her hips in time with his, letting out a low moan as her clit pressed against the solid layer of muscle at his abdomen.  
Loki let out a breathless chuckle, “I’m going to miss this,” he whispered against her neck, his tongue flicking out as he spoke.

  
Alva let out another moan, gasping “Silvertongue,” in response.

  
He let out a bark of laughter at her words, pausing in his movements slightly to look her dead in the eye. “I hope to have lived up to my reputation.”

  
“Mm, I shall be sure to tell the ladies of the court that the rumours are true. I wouldn’t want you sleeping alone without me here to warm your bed.” She said with a smirk, trying not to squirm in desperation as he tightened his grip, stilling the rocking of her hips.

  
“Very few of the ladies of the court long for a night with the silver-tongued prince, when there is a golden one who wields a mighty hammer on offer.” Loki pouted, projecting a wistful air. Alva twitched in need, and he tightened his hands further, almost to the point of pain, twisting her feathers so she could not move a muscle without risking him ripping them out. It was a sign of how comfortable she was with him that she allowed him to place her in such a vulnerable position.

  
 The wings of the Ljósálfar we almost sacred. Apart from healers clinically assessing them in a medical situation, it was taboo for any but a lover to even brush against them. Loki had been hesitant when they started their affair. He’d be perfectly comfortable with his head buried between her legs but barely caressed her wings, as though unsure how much she would allow. Until one night when he had accidently caught a hand under one of her primaries and Alva had let out such a loud moan of pleasure it had stunned him.

  
After that the trickster had taken every opportunity to run his fingers through them, running his hands down them when half conscious and preening them whenever and wherever he could, often in front of their friends. He seemed to glory in having open access to touch something that nobody else could. Now he held her wings possessively and a thrill ran up her spine, adrenaline coursing through her at the danger but also marvelling at the trust she had in him.

  
“Please,” she gasped, toes twitching in desperation to move.

  
“Tell me what you’ll say to the ladies of the court Alva.” The sound of her name in that low, intent tone made her shiver.

  
“I’ll tell them the truth,” she said, tipping her head back, he eyes squeezed tightly shut. The very tips of Loki’s fingers were brushing along the spines of the short feathers at her shoulder blades, little sparks of electricity fizzled along her skin. “That any with a brain in her head would chose Loki Silvertongue over The Hammer of Thor.”

  
His voice was quiet, but even more menacing as he asked, “And how would you know that darling?” She let out a quiet ‘Ah’ as he punctuated her sentence with a nip at her collarbone.

  
“By observing,” she panted, her words now broken, as a bead of sweat ran down her back and into the cleft of her arse. She felt like a rabbit in a trap, every muscle in her body primed to move. “All the servants who have bedded Thor talk of his prowess, of how that one night was the greatest of their lives. They boast of the honour bestowed on them, the giggle about the might of the hammer of Thor in the dark alcoves of the palace, they sigh his name under their breaths in longing-"

  
“Darling, if you want to get off at all today I’d suggest a change of tactic.” Loki interrupted, a definite bite in his words now. Alva grinned, eyes still shut and head still back, knowing how much he’d enjoy her next words.

  
“But for all they whisper, and giggle and shout of his prowess throughout the halls of the palace, there is one thing I can’t help but notice that makes me sure of Loki Silvertongues supremacy in the bedchamber.” She met his gaze gleefully.

  
“Go on.”

  
“Not one of them seems very interested in going back for a second night.”

  
A bright clear shocked laugh burst from his chest and he relaxed his grip of her wings. The moment was so absurd she couldn’t help but join in. Here they were, in the middle of what may well be the last time they ever make love, and Loki was laughing gleefully at the idea he may outclass his brother in at least one thing. He smoothed his hands over the abused feathers at her shoulders, leaning forward to kiss her, half laughing into her mouth.

  
She leaned back, a falsely innocent look on her face as she added, “And I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I’d want a hammer up there…” Loki pushed his face into the side of her neck, hiding his giggles in her hair. “Frankly, Silvertongue sounds much more appealing.” She added, running her hands up his back.

  
Alva felt a definite twitch down below and asked incredulously, “Should I be concerned that this is arousing you?” Loki let out a sigh, straightening to look at her face again.

  
“I adore you.” He said.

  
“And I you.”

  
“That is going to keep me amused for a few centuries at least.”

  
“I live to serve.”

  
He hummed, gaze turned darker. “Is that so?” He surged against her, flipping her onto her back, wings splayed out beneath her, pinned down by his weight on her hips and near immobilised. He pushed up, balancing his weight on the hands gripping her wrists as he settled between her legs, still locked tight inside her.  She could barely move, only able curl her long primary feathers around him, brushing against his arse.

  
“And how will you serve me?” he asked, starting a rhythmic pace, thrusting forcefully into her. The bed frame rocked steadily against the wall, and she pulled her leg as high around his waist as she could, desperately trying to find some control as waves of pleasure roiled through her. He licked into her mouth with fervour, seeming desperate himself for all that he was in control.

“Say you’re mine,” he breathed against her lips, with a particularly hard thrust that slammed into her clit sending sparks zinging up to her ears and down to her toes.

  
“Loki,” she panted, half in question. He released one of her arms, hand going to her breast, cupping it and pinching at her nipple. Alva gripped his arse, pulling him up and against her, rutting his base against her.

  
“Just for today,” he clarified, “Say you’re mine.” Loki’s words were half grunted, desperate and he slammed into her, faster, thrusting deeply into her core. He grasped at her hip, thrusting even harder, the bed frame thudding loudly into the wall from the force of their fucking.

  
“I’m yours,” she gasped, little ‘Hah’s of air leaving her with every thrust. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours,” she chanted, feeling the waves of her oncoming climax building within her. Tingles of pleasure ricocheted across her skin, amplified wherever they touched, and hot ropes of pleasure wrapped around them, through every fibre of her being. She could feel the Seidr building too, their combine magics, the synthetic life-force that they harnessed for workings of magic wrapping them ever closer in preparation for the fall.

  
Loki reached a hand down to her, pressing fingertips to where they were joined, his thumb rubbing at her. He bit at one pointed ear, causing a jolt of sensation that shocked through her, buzzing across her skin, even as he flicked a nail against her clit. Alva dug her nails hard into his back, every muscle tightening, crying out; ”Loki!”

  
The god bit down hard on the skin of her neck as her powerful internal muscles locked tight around his shaft, pulling him over the edge into climax. She barely felt the warm pulses of his release through the tight clenches of her own as a supernova burst behind her eyes. For one crystal clear moment, she was not Alva Inkerion, was not even a she; they were neither Alva nor Loki, nor AlvaandLoki, they were not even a hundred million molecules that made up two individual beings.

  
They were Eidr. A miniscule part of a monolithic whole: The World Tree. It was in this moment where the creation of more life was possible. The combined sum of Eidr from two separate parts, replenished by their connection to the flow of the whole in the fraction of time when they were returned to it.

  
And then it passed, and Alva was a Ljósálfar and Loki was her lover. The orgasm surged through her, she held as tight to Loki as she could, feeling suddenly bereft of that moment when they had been wholly one. Slowly, they relaxed, the prince leaning on his elbows to take her face in his hands. He pressed his mouth fully to hers, tongue languid and slow against hers as their breaths evened out. He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers letting out one long slow breath as he softened fully inside her.

  
Rolling to the side, Loki murmured, “Well, that was… something.” He ran a hand along her abdomen, pulling her back against his chest and coiling around her.

  
“It was transcendent.” She replied, pressing back into him. It was not cold in the room, but after being so close it seemed only right to press as much skin to him as possible. Her apprenticeship would be complete in a moon, and then she would be expected in Nornheim the next day if she wanted to take the first step towards living her dream.

  
Alva knew, with the certainty that the Ljósálfar were known for, that if she stayed; in Asgard, in Loki’s bed, in the life she had here, then there would come a time when they would click. It may be a century, or it may be a millennia but in time they would grow in tandem and become ever closer until one day he would be hers and she would be his. Could she knowingly walk away from that surety?

  
But Alva also knew that she would wither here. She loved her friends and knew she could be a truly great healer but Asgard was no more her home than Álfheim had been. Restlessness would plague her until she had to leave, and it would shatter whatever she and Loki may one day share when she did.

  
The Ljósálfar was also certain that there was a chance, however small, that in her leaving her and Loki would also grow into different people, but that one day they could still come together as mates. It was a notion that she took and wrapped up tight inside the deepest corners of her mind, held there like a talisman, the potential for something more.

  
Alva wrapped her wings around herself, pulling Loki’s arm further around her chest, and dragging the sheets up over them. In time, they would wake and leave this room. They would unfurl the parts of themselves that were still joined, leaving a small piece behind. And they would go about their week, separating their lives further and further. A missed conversation here, a skipped quest there. All in preparation for the final breaking of ties. And they would go on with their separate lives. Following the path wherever it might one day lead them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Leave a comment to let me know what you thought :)
> 
> Check out The Healer if you haven't already, two sequels to follow xx


End file.
